‘Explain,’ was all she said, folding her arms.

‘Raymond might look clean these days, but in the past he was a bit of a lad. Ran with Albert Renshaw’s crew. Albert was George’s dad. Raymond’s done time inside. Word is that he’s still friends with Gorgeous George, and I can see why he’d be useful… George might sometimes have a car that needs cleaning.’

‘I thought he got rid of them at his scrapyard. ’

‘Maybe.’

Bob left her to think about it. He knew she would think about it. The guy who’d been wounded… someone would know. A doctor or hospital. An all-night supermarket where he could buy compresses and bandages. Someone would know. Or he could be nearby, hiding, biding his time. Maybe in a garden or a flat. He could have burst his way in. Jane knew that the first few hours were crucial, knew that the trail started to go cold after that. She needed people to go knocking on doors. She needed at least a couple of sniffer dogs.

One member of the forensic team was taking a photo of a footprint. The footprint was bloody. It got fainter as it neared the garage doors. The wounded man? No, because he’d been twelve feet further away. But the pool of blood vanished too. There were no signs that it led outside. So, one man heading outside, one man taking a car. Had they been partners? Or was one a bystander?

‘Might be a car theft after all,’ another detective said, emerging from the office. ‘Full valet this afternoon on a big Bentley. They cost a hundred grand plus. Owner’s number’s in the diary. I’ve just talked to him. He was picking the car up in the morning.’

‘Put out a call,’ Jane said. ‘Let everyone know the registration. Box of chocolates for the first one who spots it.’

‘And a hug and a kiss from yourself, Jane?’ Bob joked.

‘Unless you’re the winner,’ she told him. Another officer had appeared from the forecourt.

‘Parked car, recently damaged. Maybe by the getaway vehicle.’